Is This What You Really Want?
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: McGiva oneshot written as a prize for solving the NFA NCIS Hangman puzzle. No plot, just Tim and Ziva.


**Is This Really What You Want?**

Tim was nervous. Ziva had been giving him speculative looks all day long. Not the kind of looks he'd been giving her (after all, how else would he know that Ziva had been looking at him if he hadn't been doing the same). Her looks were more along the lines of the piercing glare she bestowed on criminals she suspected of lying. He swallowed and stared at his computer screen. A few minutes later, he looked up again... yep, there was that stare again.

_What did I do?_ he wondered. _I didn't think I'd been particularly annoying lately._

A few minutes before the day was officially over, Ziva stood and made a beeline for his desk. Tony looked on in interest, anticipating some sort of smack down. Tim was, too, although he couldn't for the life of him think why.

Instead, Ziva leaned across the desk, met his eyes and whispered so softly that Tony couldn't hear, "Come over to my place. Don't tell anyone."

Tim's eyes got wide. "Wh–?"

She put her finger on his lips. "Come over to my place." Then, she straightened and walked to the elevator without another word.

The invitation sounded like a threat. This had been the weirdest day. Tim leaned back in his chair and looked over at Tony.

"What did she say, Probie?"

"I think she threatened me."

"Why?"

"I have no idea. I must have done something."

"Or _not_ done something," Tony suggested evilly.

"But what?"

"Not my call. You'd better get back on her good side; otherwise, she'll be threatening _you_ with the paper clip instead of me." He paused. "On second thought, why don't you keep it up?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Tony. I'll see what I can do."

"Timmy's in trouble," Tony sang.

Tim stood up and gathered his stuff. "No, I'm not. It's just some sort of misunderstanding."

"Misunderstandings with Ziva can get you killed."

"You don't have to remind me."

"Of course I do. It makes my day that much brighter."

Tim rolled his eyes again and stalked by Tony's desk. He may as well get this over with.

---

An hour later, Tim knocked on Ziva's door.

"The door is open!" a cheerful voice shouted. Tim paused. That was Ziva's voice, but it was employing inflections that Ziva would _never_, no, surely not... He opened the door and stepped into complete insanity.

Tim looked around. He'd been in here before, and what met his eyes was _nothing_ like Ziva. He felt like he'd stepped into... he wasn't sure _what_ he'd stepped into but it was _not_ Ziva, even though she was currently approaching him with a wide vacant smile on her face.

"Hello, honey. Welcome to my humble abode." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Tim took an involuntary step backward. It was like... _The Stepford Wives_! That was it. Ziva had been turned into a Stepford Wife! "Aren't you hungry? Take off your coat and have a seat. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Um, Ziva?" Tim asked. He couldn't really find the words to ask the real question. How could he phrase it? What was he trying to ask?

"Sit! Sit! You must be tired. Have a seat. Would you like me to massage your feet?"

"No, I don't." Tim took another step back and fell into a chair that had mysteriously materialized behind him. ...or maybe it had always been there. Very little would surprise Tim at this point. "Ziva... what...?" Tim was frankly terrified.

"Is this not the American male dream, McGee?" Ziva asked, still in the falsely cheery voice, still mincing around like an airheaded cheerleader. "A woman waiting at home for him? Cooking dinner, cleaning house, no mind of her own?"

"Maybe for some immature men, Ziva..."

"And you, McGee..."

"Me?"

"Yes... you." The voice lost a little of its fake cheer and took on a harder edge.

"When have I _ever_ even _intimated_ that I wanted... this?" Tim almost said _a Stepford wife_ and was heartily relieved that he'd managed to keep it inside his mouth. He was _so_ confused... and also aware that Ziva was on the verge of doing serious damage to something... or someone.

"Why, then, McGee, do you consistently ignore what is right in front of you every day? Why do you go for women with nothing in their heads but air?" She gave another ditzy twirl. "Is _this_ really what you want?"

Tim stood up again. "Ziva, I just am not following."

The twirl stopped and Ziva advanced, determination and danger in every step. "Then, I will make it clear as a... bale for you."

"Bell..." Tim whispered in terror.

"Whatever. Do I amuse you?"

"Not particularly, not right now, especially."

"Then, is it that I am too threatening? Do you find a strong woman threatening to your manhood?"

"Well, at the moment, you're a bit threatening." Tim felt his back hit the wall. He hadn't even been aware of backing up.

"I don't have any weapons."

"Like that matters."

"True." Ziva examined her fingers in satisfaction, as if taking stock of her weaponry. "Then, _what_ is it, McGee?"

"What is _what_, Ziva? You've been staring at me all day like I'm some criminal. You tell me to come over here, which I do. You make me feel like I've stepped into the Twilight Zone and suddenly, this is all my fault. _What_ did I _do_?"

Ziva put her hands on either side of Tim, her face inches from his own. "You have ignored and rejected me, McGee. And I would like to know why."

For a second, the words didn't really penetrate Tim's brain. He was extremely conscious of Ziva's close proximity, of the fact that their bodies were almost touching. There was a loose strand of hair falling across her cheek, and Tim was gripped with a sudden, irrational and altogether dangerous desire to move it for her, to tuck it behind her ear.

"That's what you think?" he said, once he reconnected with the conversation at hand.

"That is what has been happening, McGee... for many months now."

Tim didn't know what made him do it. It was taking his own life in his hands, he knew, but he felt that even if she killed him afterwards, it would be worth it. It would be worth it to do what he'd been aching to do for so long. She had not backed away, had not relinquished one iota of her righteous indignation. It took no effort, and it didn't even require much of a shift in brain-waves. The attraction he felt for her had always been coupled with a hefty dose of... what? Fear? Respect? Whatever it was, he had it for her ability to kill, maim and torture. So, while she was drawing in her breath to start another rant, he leaned forward just an inch or two, put his hands on her cheeks and drew her to him, expressing, he hoped, all the desire he'd felt, every nuance of his feelings for her in one long kiss. Ziva's shock was palpable as she actually started to back away, but that only lasted for a moment or two. Then, she was returning the kiss as ardently as he'd begun it.

It seemed to last forever, but when they finally separated, Tim tugged gently on the errant strand he'd noticed before and said, "_That_ is what I want, Ziva. I want you, not this," he waved his hand around the apartment, "you."

Ziva looked into his eyes, as if searching for any sign of falsity.

Satisfied, she nodded. "Alright, then," she said and pulled him down for another long kiss.


End file.
